The life and times of one woman, a remodel, two kids, and a memory of her former career. I ask myself the same questions I hope crosses everyone's mind... Why don't they invent drive thru everythings? What does the term homemaker really imply? When did my wardrobe include spitup?

10/21/09

I was invited to do a photo shoot in a calendar fund raiser for a local women's non-profit agency. Yep, 32 years old and asked to do a photo shoot. A picture of just me (no family coordinating involved). Naked.Guess that means I don't have to obsess over color coordinated outfits.I immediately said, "Yes!" After all, how often does a girl/mom get asked to have her picture taken by a professional...alone? And here I am, being an every day mom, and looking pretty good considering how many babies I've popped out of my hoo haw. Somebody quick! Take my picture before I fade into a wrinkled mess! I'm gripping the last wisps of my youth with a two handed death grip, "I...still...look...goooood."And then, after a day of turning this over in my mind, and inspecting my sagging ass cheeks every minute I got, I shared the news with who else, my sister. "I'm going to do a nude photo shoot!"And then, without hesitation, she offered a response I did not see coming, "Did you talk to John about it?"WHAT?! Talk to him? WHY?I thought it would be a nice surprise to get a calendar of his naked wife....Okay, well, it IS my body. Half of the North County has seen it naked from the worst angle while I squeezed out a few babies. Lord knows he's seen it at it's best and worst for the past umpteen years.Why would I talk to him? Why would he care?And then I turned this suggestion over in my mind. I'm SURE he would be thrilled. Wouldn't he? And then, I spent the next day grappling with the ethics of this situation.Why am I so excited about this? Well, for one, I would get a photographer ALL to myself working hard to make me look my best for a picture. Because, as a mom, every time I organize a family photo shoot, it is inevitable that every shot reveals my frazzled exhaustion. There it is, perfectly frozen on film, my forehead screaming, I just shopped for 3 weeks to get the perfect outfits for my family to wear in this stupid picture, and I forgot to iron my own shirt! My eyes aren't focused because they're trying to check all the other family members at once to make sure they're smiling, they're looking right, their diapers are clean and they haven't spit up on their dress yet. The plastic smile says it all: I forgot to worry about myself in this picture because I'm too worried about everyone else. And this isn't the first time.So, as you can imagine, we have a few professional, expensive, family photographs on our walls, all capturing MY worst side.Let's see, my husband's line of work allows him regular press meetings and photo shoots, even one modeling stint where he had a FULL PAGE (and beautiful, I might add) PICTURE of him, complete with a list of every clothing item and its price.I think that everyone deserves to have their beauty captured. I think my daughter's deserve the right to see their mother photographed at her best. To one day, when they've wheeled me into a home and they're cleaning out my closet in search of all my valuables, to come across this beautiful picture of their mother in her 30s, a beauty, a vixen, a little scandalous. I would LOVE to see a picture like that of my own mother. I would LOVE to relate to her in that way. To see her confidence and her beauty captured in black and white.So why wouldn't I jump at the chance to have MY picture taken?So I talked to John, and he voiced his opinions. And he ultimately said, go for it. But he warned me that there may be repercussions. That I wasn't allowed to voice regret. That the picture I envision may not be the end result.Well, okay....and, I guess, and oh hell, I get a photographer ALL too myself!MISS JULY, Here I come!

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO what a ride!”